A Dursley Visitation
by LoveSupreme
Summary: Harry and Draco take a much-needed rest from wedding-planning, and what better resort is there than Chez Dursley? All the old crew, now with 20% less angst. Super-Sequel to Christmas Visitation, which is an Angst-Sequel to Visitation.
1. Wicked Games

xx Chapter 1: Wicked Games xx

"_Excuse_ me—how have I finally gotten your stupid Gryffindor friends to figure this out but you still don't get that this is _my_ seat?"

Harry cringed and moved his broom out of his grumpy boyfriend's spot under the snickering gazes of his supposed friends.

"Good boy," the blonde said, tossing his hair as he sat down.

"Ponce," Harry mouthed at him, but Draco only grinned and squeezed his leg under the table.

"Why are you working on homework at dinner? Homework for later. Dinner time for eating," Harry said slowly, as though trying to teach a Troll. Draco was not impressed, looking at Harry from under a flat brow.

"Not homework. Wedding stuff," Draco said in the same tone.

"What is it?" Seamus questioned, looking over Draco's shoulder.

"Our guest list. Can you believe I have to have it approved by nine _tonight_? I'm not even halfway through thanks to _some_ little rogue sucking up all my free time."

"_Sucking_ it up indeed," Harry responded, earning an elbow to his ribs.

"Harry, I have to talk to you," Neville called tremulously, but then winced and seemed to change his mind about interrupting. Harry chose to ignore it to focus on something a bit more important.

"How long could it possibly take you to read through that thing? You've still got three hours," Harry question, already dreading the response based on Draco's raised eyebrow.

"Three hours isn't nearly enough time! Do you have any idea how long this thing is?"

"Actually, no. But if you could fit it at the end of your parchment roll, then it can't be too bad, right?" Harry asked hopefully.

"End? Harry, this whole parchment roll is the guest list!" Draco cried incredulously.

"The whole thing?! That's got to be over a meter long!"

"I'd put my money on two meters," Dean decided.

"Shut up, Dean," Draco growled.

"You said it was going to be a small affair! Family and friends only!" Harry accused, pulling Draco's attention back to him.

"This _is_ small! Do you have any idea how long I've worked to whittle it down to the size it's at now?!"

"No, but obviously not long enough! That's at least twice as long as it should be."

"You want me to go through and cut half the list?! Impossible! It was hard enough getting it to where I'm at!"

"_Maybe_ this is something to discuss _later_," Hermione suggested, shooting a furtive glace at Neville for some reason. Draco turned back to his food and sulked for a second before eyeing Harry's broom and asking in moping tones, "Are you going for a fly after dinner?" as a way to change the subject.

"I've got practice," Harry responded stonily.

Draco's hand stopped dead reaching for food and turned to Harry anew, filled with a violent mix of shock and anger.

"We have the thing tonight!" he cried out with angry petulance.

"I told you I couldn't go to that."

"When?"

"The last time you made me skip practice to go! I told you 'I'm never skipping practice to go to one of these things again'!"

"I didn't know you _meant_ it!"  
"I mean everything I've ever said, ever, because I'm Harry Potter."  
"Last week after we did it three times in a row you said that we were never having sex again, and I _know_ you didn't mean that," Draco hissed angrily.

"Well I meant _this_. We've got the last game against Ravenclaw in two weeks and then that's it, it's over, my days as Seeker are finito, and I'll be damned if I _lose_ the last real Quidditch match of my life."

"How melodramatic can you get? I think our wedding is a bit more important than your stupid Quidditch match!"

"_You take that back!_"

"I've had it up to here with you ditching your wifely duties to go play big Quidditch captain on the pitch!"

"Maybe you should get a friend so you can insult them instead of your future husband when you're this grumpy. As for me, I have a Quidditch practice to get to."

Draco glared at Harry hard, body expanding with a long, angry breath, but instead of using that breath to curse Harry into the next millennia, he hissed, "Talk. Now," and shoved himself away from the table, stomping angrily out of the Great Hall.

Harry watched him go angrily, trying to calm himself down before he said something he'd really regret.

He only just realized that Neville was trying to get his attention.

"What _is_ it, Neville?" he asked, angry and exasperated with being interrupted in his angry thoughts.

Although Neville had only recently gotten out of the hospital ward from his holidays-fiasco, he had been doing nothing but getting on Harry's nerves since then. He was quieter than usual, spending more of his time with Hannah Abbot, a girl he clearly seemed to fancy, but when he _was_ around Harry he would try to start up a conversation that was obviously going to be highly embarrassing judging by Neville's intense blush. In all, Harry was relieved that Hermione and Ron always seemed to step in and prevent the delivery of whatever awkward question Neville had for him.

"It's nothing, Harry, Neville's just being silly," Ron growled, mostly in Neville's direction.  
"Even after all that?!" Neville asked Ron angrily. "Harry!"

"Don't do something I _know_ you will regret, Neville," Hermione said through her teeth.

"I don't care. Harry," Neville began, but Harry shook his head. He couldn't let Draco simmer, that was for sure. Given a head start the blonde always used his time wisely: carefully choosing a counter-argument to every possibility of recourse Harry could come up with.

"Not now, Neville. Merlin!" Harry hissed, standing although he still wasn't calm enough for his liking.

Draco was pacing in a hallway off the Great Hall and glowered at Harry as he approached, broomstick in hand. Still, Harry had gotten pretty good at reading Draco, and he thought the blonde looked more petulant than murderous.

"What is your problem?" Draco questioned, but rather than bitchiness Harry thought he detected more frustration in his tone.

He took a deep breath before he responded. "This match against Ravenclaw is the last game of Quidditch that I will ever play. I want it to be good—more than good, I want it to be _great_. To do that I _need_ to practice. My _team_ needs to practice."

"Yeah, well this is the only wedding you're going to have for the rest of your life, if you're lucky, so I think that trumps Quidditch."

"It's just that the last time I had to skip Quidditch practice for this crap we were there for two hours, and at the end of it there was no need for us at all! With all these wedding planners and then your mother, pretty much all we have to do is show up and say 'I do'."

"If that's true than _please_, explain to me why I've been up to my ass in wedding work. Just because you haven't done anything doesn't mean there's nothing to do!"

"You're just busy because you don't know to leave well enough alone. You're a total micromanager!"

"And you're a lazy jerk!"

"So what, I'm supposed to skip another Quidditch practice in order to stare off into space for two hours?"

"Oh what do you want me to do—go alone?"

"Yes!"

Draco grabbed the front of his robes in one angry fist and at first he thought the blonde was going to punch him but instead he shouted, "We're supposed to be a team!"

Draco seemed embarrassed at the vehemence of his words, and released Harry's robes tetchily. He clenched his jaw before he continued, looking at Harry's knees instead of his face.

"This might be your last year on the Quidditch team, but it's your first year on _my_ team, and I want you there from the beginning," he mumbled.

Harry looked over his future husband, trying not to break into a loud "Awww!" The blonde always looked much smaller when he was embarrassed—he had a habit of drawing his whole body inwards, and it was amazing the difference it made.

"That was _so_ tacky," Harry finally said and Draco couldn't help but laugh.

"Shut up—you've said worse." Harry caught Draco's arm as the blonde hit him with a half-hearted punch to his ribs and drew the boy in to his chest, resting his head against the white-gold locks.

"You owe me big time, you manipulative punk."

"Anything you want," Draco said happily, hugging him around the middle. He pulled back in slight confusion when Harry jumped slightly.

"Think of something?" asked Draco in a sultry voice when he saw Harry's face.

"Mmmhm. You're going to have one long night," Harry said in his gravelly, bedroom voice. Draco shivered inwardly, but hoped it wasn't obvious. But as dense as Harry was he always seemed to pick up on these things.

"I hate to break it to you, babe, but that's not really a punishment."

Harry's smile widened. "I've got something a bit more _involved_ in mind." When Draco looked at him curiously he added, "Let's just say I need to _train_ you to sit up and _beg_."

When it dawned on Draco what Harry meant the brunette kissed him quickly and said "Well, I'm going to go change before we're off," in jaunty tones, leaving Draco standing blankly.

XXX

Draco thought that, rather than becoming easier, it…and he…was becoming harder with every passing minute under his mother's icy gaze. She was too observant for her not to know what was having him twitching and fidgeting in his seat, but damned if the woman let anything move beyond a snail's pace. This was punishment, definitely. But for what?

He couldn't focus on anything going on around him, yet he was intensely aware of Harry in a way so excruciating he was thinking it must be Dark Magic. Harry shifted in his chair again—obviously uncomfortable in the hard, straight-back Malfoy chairs—and Draco's body tightened around its core, watching the boy from his peripheral.

He wiped his pale palms on his robes—they were slick.

What was this? Was he nervous? Or was this simply a new form of unbearable excitation?

Draco agreed to whatever was offered up by his mother or the wedding planning coordinator: Miss Gates. He knew that in either hands this wedding was going to be very well taken care of. Chloe Gates seemed to match his mother in astuteness, ruthlessness, and gritty, no-nothing competency. She looked like a bouncer you scoffed at in the moment before everything went painfully black. Although Draco normally felt gleeful being in both their commanding presences at once, right now he'd rather be sunbathing with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. For the moment he agreed with Harry that the boys were completely superfluous to the process.

He glanced at Harry for one moment, making sure that the boy wasn't watching him. He was about to doubt himself and knew that the brunette would be able to tell if he were being attentive. Luckily, Harry and Lucius seemed to be having a conversation entirely made of silent eye-rolls.

"Did you have to go through all this shite with your wedding?" Harry was eye-asking.

"All this and more," was Lucius' disgruntled eye-reply.

Draco turned his head away and let himself doubt.

He wasn't necessary here. Harry especially wasn't necessary here. Harry was…God forbid…_right_. (But how could he get them out of this situation without mentioning that?) He was a micromanager. He knew that Gates and his mother were perfectly capable of putting this whole thing together splendidly, he knew that all the finer details he cared about could fit into one piece of parchment and from there on out it would be Gates and her team's job to put those wishes into reality—not his. He knew this and yet…he couldn't stop himself. For whatever manic reason, some obsessive part of him wanted to be informed of every little drama, every little quirk to be worked around, every difficulty, every success and every delay.

His mother didn't mind it, she said she'd gone through a similar phase during her wedding, but his father was poignantly disturbed by his avid care for the process. As when he'd walked in on Draco playing wardrobe director with Crabbe and Goyle in his mother's closet when they were 5, Lucius seemed to be readjusting his mental expectations of Draco's masculinity. At five Lucius' mind had tentatively crossed out the Future-Wife he'd always imagined for Future-Draco. Now he seemed to be wondering what else there was to cross out. Probably the image of Harry in an apron bringing Draco his slippers after a hard day at the office.

Cares about weddings=definitely the woman in this relationship, Lucius' mind seemed to be pointing out.

Draco pouted.

That was unfair. Just because he cared about this wedding didn't mean he was any less a man than Harry.

In his head Draco came up with a list of why Harry was the woman.

He cries more. He gets mushy more often. He's more concerned for others.

Draco thought those were substantial enough to validate him. He, after all, was dark and sinister and manipulative. Harry was good and virtuous and _touching the small of Draco's back._

Draco's entire body went stiff and he turned to stare into the daring, sinister, predatory eyes of his future wife. Harry slunk rather than just moved closer, twisting his neck forward, letting his lips brush the shell of Draco's ear as he whispered, "When we get home, that smug look on your face is going to be the first thing to come off."

Draco's spine nearly shivered him out of his chair.

"If that's all, Mom, we really have to go," Draco said in one strained breath, trying to disguise his shiver by jumping straight out of his chair.

Narcissa looked pleased—she must know that he had been struggling for composure for the last hour and had finally failed. Except this didn't feel like failure, so he must have given in—and being with Harry for this long had taught him just how blissful giving in could feel.

In his mind he planned out exactly how long it would take him to unlock the drawer with the deep-green collar still in its pristine white case…especially with his fingers trembling the way they were…

X

A/N: Holy shit it's been a while. What can I say? I'm one lazy SOB. I do also have the added excuse of being in France right now...but it really is more due to the laziness problem. Hope this installment doesn't suck too bad, and also doesn't make anyone start angst-crying.


	2. Don't Stop When You're Ahead

Draco's idea, like all his best ideas, came to him of its own free will, easily and without effort as soon as Harry put the heavy white casket into his hands.

"See you in the sitting room, and be quick about it," Harry said to him in that low gravelly voice and only once he was out of the room did Draco allow himself to smile evilly.

Then he realized he could get a lot more out of this situation than just pampering. There were many things that he wanted right now, after all. He wanted Harry to force him to stop with this wedding business so he wouldn't have to admit he was wrong and give it up freely. He wanted the wedding stuff put far away so he couldn't be tempted to get involved.

And he wanted to meet the Dursleys.

Harry had been so far inflexible in his out-and-out denial on this point. He was convinced that Draco would only maim them and thus get sent to Azkaban. That Draco believed that no Wizengamot would convict him of anything but being a dutiful husband swayed Harry not an inch. So far no amount of cloying, pleading, pouting, even a little crying had done him any good. Hermione hadn't had any better luck of convincing him on her end, either, and the Weasel flatly refused to help.

Although Draco had sworn after The Great Schism to stop with manipulating, he couldn't help but resort to it when every other facet of argument had lost.

He tossed his hair back and clasped the vibrant green collar around his throat. He would get to those rotten Dursleys. Even if he had to manipulate Harry to within and inch of his life.

Then he shuffled his feet to the sitting room and did his best to tremble nervously.

XXX

Harry awoke once again in the blissed-out state of a morning's procrastinated afterglow. He loved the way his body was able to hold on to an afterglow until he was conscious enough to really enjoy it.

He sighed happily and turned to his fiancé. The blonde was curled up a few inches away, his face buried in the thick comforter so that only a peek of white-blonde hair poked out. Harry tingled with a slight overdose on adorableness. This was by and far Draco's cutest sleeping stance, and Harry knew that if he took a peek at the face hidden under there the sight would remind him of an exhausted and slightly pouting kitten.

So he leaned up on his elbow and folded the covers back covertly.

He was not disappointed. Draco's one hand was curled under his chin, his mouth full and petulant as if someone were teasing him in his sleep. The hill of one fine shoulder was pulled up by his ear, for some reason making him look more childish.

Harry could see the dark green still stark against his throat. He felt a surge of both white-hot desire and cooling tenderness roll through him.

Draco had given him a lot last night. Much more than he normally asked for, and much more than Draco normally willingly gave. He felt incredibly indebted to Draco, despite there being no system of debits and credits in their roles. Still—Draco had pleased him and he wanted to please Draco likewise.

He kissed the blonde's temple very gently—somehow the Slytherin seemed especially fragile after last night—and slipped silently out of bed, knowing that after a night like that Draco would be both very tired and very hungry.

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt and slipped quietly out of the room, feeling jovial enough once in the hallway to whistle happily to himself. He tried to figure out what to ask the House Elves for. What would Draco be in the mood for this morning? Maybe he'd just ask for everything—hedge his bets. He should get eggs, even though they weren't Draco's favorites: the blonde needed his protein after working so hard last night.

Harry couldn't help but smile at that thought. Thoughts like that tended to lead places, and he didn't want to importune Draco any further that day.

Only when he saw the figure in the shadows of the stairway did he realize he hadn't grabbed his wand.

Neville stepped out into the light nervously and Harry learned how to breathe again, chuckling softly at his rush of adrenaline.

"Neville! What are you doing here? Merlin, you really freaked me out!" Harry laughed.

"Harry," Neville squeaked, then cleared his voice, wringing his hands.

"What are you doing up this early? It's Saturday you know."

"Yeah, I know…" Neville said nervously, looking around as if he were expecting someone dangerous to come along soon.

"So what are you doing up here?"

"I have to talk to you Harry," Neville said with much determination. Harry suddenly remembered why talking to Neville was going to ruin his morning: Neville had been waiting to ask him something awkward.

"Oh, geeze, Neville—don't you think maybe Seamus or Dean would be better people to ask? They're more like…on your team—they know what they're doing in that arena," Harry said, walking on to the kitchens, his face as red as Neville's.

"Ask? What?"

"Well, I mean, I'm just guessing—but it's something about Hannah Abbott right?" Harry questioned awkwardly.

"No—well, maybe being with her helped me to understand what relationships are supposed to be like, but that's neither exactly here nor there," Neville was muttering to himself.

"So you guys are definitely an item then! Cool. Sorry I haven't been on top of things much. Things have been kind of intensive with me and Draco lately—what with the wedding and all. And then Quidditch. And N.E.W.T.s, of course. Lots of work this year," Harry laughed slightly.

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, Harry," Neville said with a determined set to his shoulders. Still, he followed after Harry stumblingly.

"N.E.W.T.s? Hermione's probably going to better than me when it comes to that."

"No, not N.E.W.T.s," Neville said with something approaching exasperation.

"…Quidditch? Why?"

"No, no it's not Quidditch, Harry—It's Draco!"

"What about him? Listen, I know he's been a bit of a bully lately, but it's only because he's so stressed with this wedding. He won't always be like this. I'll tell him to go easier on you—don't worry. What did he do to you, anyways?"

"Harry, just follow me with this, okay?" Neville said forcefully, grabbing Harry by his shoulders and holding him still. "Draco is like…Draco is like sweets."

"Okay, I'm with you so far."

"What I mean is, they might be fun in small doses but you can't live off them for the rest of your life!"

"I've lost you again."

"Ugh! Draco might be a fun boyfriend but he's not a husband—he's not someone who can take care of you and put you before himself! Now do you get it?!" Neville cried, his exasperation overriding his tact.

By the furious look on Harry's face and the feeling of slight electricity stinging Neville's hands, it seemed that Harry did get it.

Shaking with anger, he pulled Neville's hands off him and practiced taking deep breaths.

"It's okay," Harry said in a strangled voice. "You never spend time with Draco alone, and from what you see he wouldn't make a very good husband." He looked up to Neville suddenly and continued. "He's not exactly who he pretends to be to keep up his street cred. After the wedding, once he's calmed down into his normal self again, you two will hang out and then you'll understand how very wrong you are, Neville. Until then, don't speak to me about this again. And don't say a word of it to Draco!"

With that Harry walked away, and although Neville was disappointed he knew better than to try for another audience with the temperamental Gryffindor.

He appeased himself by murmuring, "You're making a mistake, Harry," and hoping that the brunette didn't hear him.

XXX

Harry stopped at the door of his room, took a deep breath, and tried to forget about Neville. Draco would read that kind of tension on his face and never let down till he got it out of him, and then how would Harry explain to Neville's grandmother how the ex-Death-Eater's son had killed her grandson? She'd go ballistic and then who knew how many people would end up in the wizarding equivalent to the morgue? He couldn't deal with all that _and_ a wedding _and_ NEWTs _and_ Lord Voldemort, that was for sure.

Draco awoke when Harry shifted his weight onto the bed, and Harry couldn't help but smile at the groggy, blinking eyes and that Draco's hand went straight to check his hair.

"You brought me breakfast in bed?" Draco mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Yep, and you better eat all of it, too. No more of this 'I have to fit into my wedding robes' stuff—Gates showed me those robes and they're huge."

"But Malfoy fat goes straight to the jowls, and you can see that over robes. I showed you that portrait of my grandfather Abraxas." Draco stroked his own non-existant jowls and his hand suddenly came into contact with the thick collar around his neck.

He must have forgotten about it—his eyes flew open with surprise and then his cheeks went apple-red.

Harry blushed by association and stood to get the box off the vanity, offering for Draco to put it back in its case. This was obviously a powerful tool that should no longer be used so flippantly.

Even with it out of sight it still apparently affected Draco—he ate only a fraction of his huge breakfast before excusing himself to take a shower, alone, and without inviting Harry to join.

With nothing better to do, Harry lay on the bed and tried to get through some of his course reading for this week.

He had to stop abruptly when Draco got out of the bathroom, wearing his green sweater that was much too big and showing a lot of collarbone, along with what were definitely his SexyPants, looking as if they were painted directly onto his skin.

Harry put his book firmly aside, and was rewarded with Draco cuddling up so close he was partly on top of him.

"Are you okay?" Harry murmured into the blonde's damp hair. He got a nod in response, but that was all.

"Actually, I've been…thinking…_wondering_ about something," Draco said slowly.

Something about the tone of his voice made Harry tense up—Draco was not wondering about something good.

"I don't know if it was because of last night or…" The blonde shook his head, trying to shake away that thought like an etch-a-sketch. "Is there a reason you don't want me to meet your family? I mean…I know I'm not very nice normally, but I already promised to be on my very best behavior."

"_No_," Harry said bluntly. He had decided this was a subject he needed to be blunt with. "I know I've never explained this very in-depth to you, but the jist of what you need to know is that these people never treated me like family and I don't consider them my family. The only reason I don't want you to meet them is because they're the very worst of Muggle kind and I don't need you being any more biased against Muggles or Muggle-borns than you already are. You are only allowed to meet good Muggles for the rest of your life, otherwise you will have worldviews which will be completely intolerable."

"Stop sparking my curiousity—I don't have much of it but I do have some and damn it I'm curious about what your life was like before I met you!"

"It was horrible and that's all you need to know."

"That's not all I need to know: if we're going to share our futures I think we should share our pasts too! What you know about my past always helps you to say amusing little comments about how that's why I don't know how to swim, or 'oh, that must be why you hate oranges!'—well that's not fair. I want to say things like that about you too you know."

"Anything you would be able to say would only be depressing: 'oh that's why you won't sit on Mum's satin sofa!' 'oh that's why you hate boxing!'."

Draco sat up into a kneel, clasping Harry's hands tightly and looking him seriously in the eyes.

"Like last night…you always get a chance to show me how much you'll always take care of me and be good to me—with my parents you always get to show how you'll be with me for better or for worse. You don't know how hard it is for me to not have an opportunity to show you that too, to prove myself to you. I trust you, Harry, and I want you to trust me too—" he held up a hand to stop Harry's protests, and continued. "And I know you that you think you do, but you don't know. You can't know because I've never been tested. I want this test. I want to show you that I'm here for better or for worse."

"You're willing to marry me even with a psychopathic murderer after me, I think that's quite enough proof," Harry argued, although he sounded cowed and tentative.

"Not for me it isn't. It's stupid and childish but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't as real to me as the Dursleys are. No one knows where he is or what he's up to and after my childhood he'll always be a scary bonfire story. And I know that if I ever have to face him myself I'll just prove how unbelievably cowardly I am. The Dursleys are the kind of mean I can handle."

"I know you can handle them, I think you can handle them too much. You have magic and they don't. You have a temper that's liable to slip the lead and land everyone in the hospice."

"That's what I want to prove to you. I can do this. I'm capable of a lot more that you think I am, you just haven't given me the chance to show you. I need you to know all the general facets of me before we get married. I don't want you to marry an idea of me. I want you to marry me—all of me."

Draco touched his throat and Harry thought of the collar. He had thought that that collar would be a whole lot of flippant fun, but actually it had made Draco seem nervous and strangely eager to please. There was still a lot that he didn't know about Draco, and he knew that because of his secrecy and taciturn nature in the face of emotional problems Draco knew even less about him. That was an unsure footing for the blonde onto which it was unfair of Harry to put him. If he could afford Draco better clarity into who he was, or rather had been, then that was the only fair thing to do. Draco wanted to prove himself to Harry, but Harry understood that what they both really wanted was to be fully understood, or at least as close to it as a married couple could get. The more understanding they went into this thing with, the better their chances of making it.

Harry thought of Neville suddenly. Neville, like himself, distrusted Draco's ability to be coolheaded and caring in face of adversity. Harry would allow Draco to show them both. But not for long. The Dursleys were trying on Harry's self-control, too, and he didn't need the chance to blow his temper either.

"I'll…think about it."

Draco beamed.

"That's all I ask for, darling, smart, calculating husband of mine. I know you'll make the right decision, as that is the hallmark of your high level of manliness. A little wife like me can only sit back and hope fervently for the blessed decision of her external brain. Merlin knows a helpless woman like me could never, say, find their address and sneak of for a weekend with the in-laws," Draco said pleasantly.

"_Don't_, okay—I'll _think_ about it. I'll tell you tonight—promise."

But he should have known better than to think that Draco would put off till that night what he could get right then and there. His father had always warned him against procrastination, after all.


	3. Full Stop

"Draco!" Hermione cried eagerly, glancing behind him to make sure Harry wasn't around. "I've got it—how about an obscure Ancient Magic that makes it necessary for a blood relation of Harry's to be present at the ceremony to give it validity?" She was about to continue into the intricacies of her idea when Draco raised his hand proudly to stop her.

"Don't bother. It's done."

"You mean…you've given up?"

"Puh-leeze! I mean I've won. We're going as soon as school lets out."

Hermione stared at the boy in a kind of awe. She wondered if this were something she could study and memorize and thus utilize.

"_How_?" she sighed on her out breath when she started breathing again.

"It's very simple Hermione. Harry loves me and would do anything for me and I have something specific I want him to do for me. The one takes care of the other," Draco said jovially, making his weeks of hard work seem meager because he knew she was smart enough to know an underestimation when she heard one.

Just in case though, he smiled at her preeningly.

"Anyways, you can stop with all the research now."

"Good, because, honestly, I wasn't finding jack on any marriage rules that would require the Dursleys to be there."

"This is much better—I'm going to have _us_ go _there_. If they're as terrible as he says I don't want them at our wedding."

Hermione shook her head. "Why exactly do you want to meet them then—if you believe him that they're so terrible?"

Draco opened his mouth, but then closed it, blushing slightly. He certainly couldn't tell her what he'd told Harry.

"I want them to see that I'm not someone to fuck around with and that I will not tolerate anyone fucking around with my husband," Draco said haughtily instead, making sure his voice sounded appropriately wrathful.

Then he realized what he'd said and he and Hermione exchanged mirthful yet slightly embarrassed smiles.

"I still can't believe you two are really going to do it. Get _married_! I hate to throw myself in with every other girl in this school—but that is just so freaking romantic."

"Yeah well," Draco muttered, blushing, "I'll be sure to toss the bouquet your way and they you can see how 'romantic' it is." He hoped this adequately covered how romantic he thought it all was, but Hermione was a smart girl.

She shook her bushy head, smiling, but didn't rebuke his statement. He decided to continue so she wouldn't be able to.

"Anyways, the only negative thing is that Harry's not going to give me much time to put the fear of me in those louses. Plus, I don't think he's going to lobby very hard in getting them to invite us, and he insists on us being '_welcome_.' Luckily, I think I've found a way to change his mind. But I'll need your help, of course." He glanced around him, but no one seemed to be paying them much mind. He whispered his plan to her quietly, but was only about halfway through when someone interrupted him.

"Malfoy," said a strained voice behind him, and he turned to see Neville standing there, looking terrified.

He smiled evilly.

"Longbottom. I know you're forgetful to a point of mental handicap, but you sit on _that_ side of the table. Run along now, widdle Gwiffindor, before you get under someone's _foot_." Draco smiled inwardly. Leave it to Longbottom to keep his ability at covert threats, taunts, and teasings sharp. What would Draco do without the little blubberer after graduation?

"Hannah's looking for you, Neville—why don't you _go_ see what she wants?" Hermione growled dangerously.

It would have been an interesting stand-off as Neville appeared to be struggling to hold his ground, but then Harry had to show up.

"Hey babe—what are you doing here? You've already eaten," Harry said to Draco, elbowing Neville harshly out of his way to sit down next to the blonde.

Draco frowned. Something was definitely going on there.

"Nothing, just getting Hermione to help me with some more wedding stuff," Draco said pleasantly, holding Harry around his waist and kissing him happily in greeting. "I've got to get to it now, I'm afraid. Have fun with your friends—I'll be pretty busy today."

"Point taken—I won't come bother you," Harry promised as Draco got up from the table. Draco paused and put on his soft face. Hermione felt like she should be taking notes.

"Thanks, hon. See you for dinner." Draco kissed Harry again before leaving, shooting Hermione a glance that said, "Okay, your turn."

"I see you two got over your little tiff from last night," Hermione said smugly, fixing up her toast.

"Hm? Oh yeah—Draco apologized for all that, so, the coast is clear," Harry chuckled.

Hermione tried to not make too big a show of dropping her toast. Draco always made this look so believable, but she felt a little silly actually.

"_Draco_ apologized?"

Harry looked at her, shocked, over his glass of milk.

"Um…yeah."

"What for?!" She hissed in an outrage that seemed a bit much. She waited for Harry to see through her second-hand scheme, but the boy just looked shocked.

"For making me miss practice again! I was right, by the way—I didn't do anything at that stupid wedding meeting," Harry grumbled.

"Well personally I think you're using Draco horribly with this whole wedding planning thing," she huffed.

"What? What do you mean?" Harry said worriedly.

"I mean that Draco's working really hard on this and all you care about is your Quidditch practices! You haven't done one bit of work for months, and here Draco is doing both your jobs!"

"What jobs? We've got a wedding planner. The whole point of having a wedding planner is that it leaves no work for us!"

"Well it might've left no work for _you_, but Draco's working himself to the bone—between the wedding and Advanced Potions with Snape, NEWTs coming up—you know Draco's the only person around here taking those properly serious."

"You mean over-reacting—just like you."

"I just don't think you're being very fair—but hey, if you're okay with driving Draco that hard, then who am I to say otherwise? After all, he's _your_ husband. It's _your_ job to keep him safe and healthy—not mine. I guess you know better. You're so very observant after all."

Harry thought she was being a bit harsh, but more than that he thought that if there were the slightest chance that she were remotely right he would have to take drastic measures against anything hurting Draco—even the blonde's own insistence on overworking himself.  
"Has he said something? Did he say he's working too hard? I guess I haven't noticed, but when I'm with him he always seems so…well…alert," Harry said with a blush.

"Of course he does, Harry—he doesn't want you to think less of him. You always do so much for him—he doesn't want you to think he can't handle it. You know what his pride's like," Hermione said happily—this thing really was easy.

"Yeah…I guess so…"

Harry was kept properly distracted for the rest of the day. Ron helped with that quite a bit even though Hermione hadn't, and couldn't, inform him of the nefarious plot. While Ron no longer repeatedly threatened to end Draco's meager existence, he also astutely refused to enter into any of the blonde's ploys—even the ones that eventually helped Harry. Ron didn't trust Plots, whether they were for good or evil. It didn't help that he didn't see anything he and Harry had ever done as Plotting. That was just Sleuthing, and he was perfectly all right with Sleuthing. The main difference between the two seemed to be Draco's hand in them. Draco Plotted, Ron Sleuthed. That was how he knew the difference.

In any case, despite his abhorrence of Plots, Ron was doing a good job of aiding this one, albeit unwittingly. He and Harry managed to round up the Quidditch team and they got their practice, although the bright sunshine made it a bit more playful that the average Quidditch practice, especially with Harry as Captain. It was hard to imagine it, but Harry was rather _merciless_ as a Quidditch Captain.

In all, dinner was nearly over with when they scrambled back to the Great Hall, and they were barely able to stuff themselves before the food disappeared from the tables.

Then things went slightly pear-shaped.

"I'm going to go check up on Draco," Harry said worriedly.

"What? He's fine—come on, we haven't played a good game of Wizard Chess in eons," Ron cajoled. Harry would have none of it.

"No, I better make sure he's gotten something to eat. When he gets into one of his manic moods he forgets important things like that," Harry grumbled.

Hermione tried not to panic—Draco hadn't told her how long she'd need to keep Harry occupied. Was this too soon? Too late?

Luckily, Draco was coming down the stairway just as they were going up it. It was obvious to Harry by his pinched expression that Draco hadn't eaten.

"Draco!" he cried, and the blonde looked up—eyes focused but not on him, on a mission.

"Hey Harry—can't talk—on my way to the library."

Harry had to turn and follow the blonde back down the staircase, and Ron and Hermione followed after.

"You missed dinner."

"Hm? Oh yeah. Well—later, later," Draco mumbled.

"You can't work like this and not eat anything," Harry said authoritatively, but Draco didn't respond—seemed not to have heard him.

"Come to the kitchens and we'll get you something to eat—then you can finish whatever it is you're doing,"

"Right—later," Draco said distractedly. Harry had had enough.

He grabbed Draco by the arm, stopping the boy's downward rush to the library.

"No, now!" Harry insisted.

"I said later, Potter—let go of me! I'm in the middle of something!" Draco shouted, making Harry's eardrums flinch. No lunch either then—the blonde was always more volatile on an empty stomach.

"Yeah, you're in the middle of getting something to _eat_," Harry growled back.

"Well _you're_ in the middle of letting go of my fucking ah-ahhhr," Draco snarled, twisting around violently in Harry's grip. At first Harry thought he was going to sneeze or something—Draco had twisted away from the brunette and Harry couldn't see his face. He barely had enough time to catch the blonde as Draco slumped forward towards the descending stairs.  
"Draco!" Harry cried out, and he could hear Hermione do the same in a high-pitched voice that more adequately belied her exact level of freaked-the-fuck-out.

The blonde's dead weight felled him to the floor, and he turned Draco in his lap—the pale face was ashen gray and damp, his eyes open but unfocused—blinking dazedly.

"Hospital wing, hospital wing," Harry murmured to himself, trying to direct himself in his immediate actions.

Draco struggled meagerly when Harry lifted him into his arms.

"I'm fine," he said in a groaning sort of voice. "I'm just a little dizzy—I'm fine—I can walk on my own."

But the body in his arms felt distinctly immobile, so Harry didn't bother to test this hypothesis.

"Oh come on, _please_," Draco groaned in embarrassment as Hermione jogged alongside them, patting his face with a damp towel she must have conjured up. Ron ran ahead to tell Madam Pomfrey.

Harry rejoiced in that embarrassed voice—it meant that Draco was aware, and if he were aware Harry forced himself to believe that it wasn't that dangerous of a situation.

"This is not necessary!" Draco growled when they got him to Madam Pomfrey who immediately set him in a bed he refused to lie down on and starting running her little tests and firing off questions.

"He fainted," Harry explained to the woman.

"I did not faint! Don't you dare say that I fainted!" Draco shouted with full ire—but then his eyes blinked out of focus again and he slumped forward bonelessly. Pomfrey deftly laid him back upon the pillows, fanning his face.

"Stop that," Draco murmured in a far-away voice—pushing her hand away weakly.

"Have you eaten today?" Madam Pomfrey questioned, feeling his pulse, taking his temperature.

"He only had breakfast," Harry answered. _And not much of it, _he thought.

"He didn't have dinner last night," Hermione reminded and Harry started—it was true but he hadn't realized it.

"Did you eat lunch yesterday?" Pomfrey asked Draco, who was feeling well enough by now to glare at her.

"I was _busy_—okay? People get busy!" he growled. His stomach growled with him and he blushed awkwardly.

"I'll call down for some dinner," Pomfrey said in slight annoyance, but her annoyed persona faded when she turned to Harry—his entire body was wracked with worry.

"It's simple over work," she said to him kindly, softly, taking his tightly gripped hands into hers and patting them gently into calm. "You see it a frequently this time of year. Nothing to worry about. Get him some regular meals, get him to rest more—he'll be fine."

"This is Draco Malfoy—how am I supposed to get him to do anything he doesn't want to do?" Harry asked in horror.

Pomfrey seemed a bit taken aback at this problem.

"You're his fiancé—I'm assuming you've got your ways," she accused vaguely, and left to get some food called up.

Harry's shoulder slumped miserably. He had been hoping for something a bit more helpful than that.

"Can you guys excuse us—we've got to talk," Harry mumbled to his friends as he went to sit down on Draco's bed.

"Yeah, we've got to talk! We've got to talk about getting out of here—I'm too busy for this! I can't waste time getting babysat in the fucking hospital ward!" Draco hissed tensely.

Harry placed a firm hand on Draco's shoulder and looked him directly in the eyes—Draco was shocked into compliance at the sign of Harry's overwhelming worry seen there.

When Harry said, "Please calm down," in a small, devastated kind of voice, Draco fell back against the pillows and watched in awe as his body let go of its tense hold of itself.

"Please, guys," Harry murmured to Hermione and Ron again, and they left numbly.

Harry's hand slipped from the blonde's thin shoulder, moving to wring its partner.

"I'm so sorry," Harry said sadly, and Draco's brain went into red alert.

He lunged forward, taking the brunette's caved body in both lithe arms, showing his strength by holding him tightly.

"Don't be sorry—please don't be sorry. It's not your fault—it's like you said, I bring this on myself. I just can't stop myself! You're right—I'm a total micromanager. I know my mother and Gates can take care of everything, but I can't let them!" Draco insisted, kissing Harry's face.

Harry shook his head miserably.

"I'm your fiancé. I'm supposed to take care of you. I didn't even know anything was wrong until Hermione told me. I should know these things. I should be able to see them, without anyone else's help."

"Harry, you take excellent care of me. Better than anyone," Draco said in a voice approaching sensuality. Harry glanced at him in slight confusion, seeing That Look in Draco's gray-blue eyes. "You take _such_ good care of me," the blonde added, not bothering to hide the sultriness of his words.

Harry couldn't help but smile.  
"Oh get off, you ponce," he sighed, pushing the blonde's arms off him.

Draco collapsed back happily on his meager pillows. Harry was smiling, which looked like a win in his books.

"Can we come back in now?" Ron yelled through the door.

"No yelling!" Pomfrey shouted.

"No," Draco called.

Ron walked in anyways, Hermione right behind him, looking relieved at Draco's easy manners. Pomfrey wasn't far behind her, levitating in a hefty meal. Harry cringed, and he was right on the mark.

"What are you, crazy?! _Me_? Eat all _that_?! I've got wedding robes to fit into this summer, you know! Maybe you can stand to let yourself go—closed up all the way up here in the hospital wing! The people who see you are already sick—it doesn't matter what you do with _your_ body—but _me_! I've got a man to please!" Draco went on and on, and Harry knew that if left to his own devices this was topic he could spend all night delving into.

"Okay, okay! Thank you, Madam Pomfrey—thank you—it's the exhaustion—he doesn't know what he's saying," Harry cried as he ushered her out the door, shoving the platter of food into Hermione's awaiting arms.

"For someone who's normally so tactful, you sure do know how to piss off the one woman who has all night to kill you."

"All night?" Draco cried in alarm, sitting up sharply.

"You think after your fainting spells and then _that_ she's going to let you go? Trust me, if there's one thing Pomfrey likes it's to punish students with overnight stays."

"It's not punishment," Hermione argued, giving Draco his towering meal. "She just knows that boys like you can't be trusted to oversee your own treatments."

Both Harry and Draco pouted at her with an identically hurt expression.

It couldn't last long, as Pomfrey made an antagonistically loud entrance then, strangling a pair of pajamas.

"All right, all right—this isn't a social call. You--change into this. The rest of you—out; back to your own rooms," Pomfrey said in a foul temper.

Draco's gaze shot to Harry imploringly and Harry appropriately stepped forward.

"Um, Madam Pomfrey? If I could have a word, please?"

With only two minutes of quiet talking outside the door, Harry re-entered, looking neutral, which Draco decided was the best he was going to get in this situation.

"I got it talked down. You guys still have to go, but I can stay the night."

"Well, darn, and I was so looking to spending the night in the hospital wing with a tempermental ferret-boy," Ron said sarcastically.

"And I don't have to wear those hospice pajamas?" Draco questioned eagerly.

"No, but you do have to wear appropriate pajamas," Harry warned. Draco groaned unhappily.

"He doesn't normally wear pajamas?" Ron asked, clearly horrified.

"What's the point? I have to take them off eventually anyways," Draco replied. When Ron looked confused Draco shot him a flirting glance that put an end to all confusion.

"Louse—eat up. I'll go get stuff from our room," Harry chided.

"Ugh—what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" complained Draco.

"_Eat_."

Ron and Harry left, but Hermione hung back to talk to Draco.

"_That_?!" she hissed quietly. "_That_ was your big plan?!"

Draco blushed, looking very interested in his meal suddenly.

"Okay—maybe I didn't mean to…_collapse_—but you have to admit, it's _totally_ going to work."

"It's going to work in Harry going insane until school lets out. You too, you know. Do you think he's going to let you lift a finger after this? You'll be lucky if he doesn't prescribe bed rest for the rest of the school year."

"I didn't mean to, okay! I couldn't eat or Harry would be able to tell and then I was so caught up in that damned seating arrangement that I completely forgot about eating! Trust me—the last thing I want is for him to treat me like the last dragon egg on earth for the foreseeable future," Draco pouted.

"Well, this is karma for plotting then I guess," Hermione said smugly.

"Then you'll get your comeuppance soon, too! You helped me!" Draco warned, and Hermione had the decency to look slightly contrite.

"Okay, okay. Point taken. Well, try to get some rest then at least. Maybe Harry will ease up if you start resting and eating right."

"Yeah, maybe," Draco said doubtfully, pouting hard.

"See you tomorrow."

"If he lets me out of bed," Draco muttered, collapsing back petulantly.

XXX

Draco was only just getting bored with pushing food around on his plate when the hospice door opened again. He put on a big smile to show Harry how healthy he was feeling, but it turned out to be Neville instead, which was hardly less amusing.

"Good evening, Longbottom, have your feet tried to kill you again? Of course I would to if I had to carry you around all day. The least you could do is slim down and make the job easier on them," Draco said happily.

He stiffened though when Neville pulled out his wand and put a locking charm on the door.

Draco instinctively berated himself for changing so quickly into his pajamas—now his wand was still in his cloak on the back of the chair by the wardrobe. He tried to reason with his paranoid nature. Neville was Harry's friend. Friends don't kill friend's fiancés. But no friend's fiancé had ever been as antagonistic as Draco, the blonde imagined. He went for another reasoning tactic: Neville was so wayward with spells that he'd never be able to pull off something really painful. Draco let his faith rest in Neville's hopelessly bad Charms notes.

"What is it you think you're doing exactly, Neville?" said Draco sweetly.

"I want to speak with you, Malfoy. Speak seriously," Neville said in a wavering voice. He was nervous, but Draco could tell by the look in his eyes that he was also determined.

"By all means, talk away. I've got nothing better to do than to listen to you wag your chin, which will probably be a first and a last. You better take advantage of it while you can."

To Draco's disappointement, Neville didn't seem to have heard anything beyond his assent, pulling up a chair to ease his shaking legs.

"You can't marry Harry, Draco," Neville said seriously. Draco could feel it as the words hit close to his heart, but didn't let this show.

"Oh, really? And why is that? Don't tell me you're holding out hope that he'll sweep you off your feet to a golden land and make you his princess?"

"You can't marry him, Draco, because you're no good for him. And you know you're no good for him—yet you'd bind him to you forever anyway, which proves you to be even worse for him."

Draco couldn't do anything in face of this assault than hope, plead, beg that someone would break through the door and end his beating. In face of his paralysis, Neville continued, solemn in voice but shaking in body, as if he had memorized this speech, which Draco knew to be impossible with Neville's memory.

"I know that you're too far gone to want what's best for him, even more to _do_ what's best for him. I know what you want out of him: his protection, his care, his esteem and all of this based off his adoration. But what he adores about you is exactly what you can't keep up; you can pretend to be the person he obviously thinks you are for the times you're around him in Hogwarts, but I'm talking about for life, twenty-four/seven. You might be a decent actor, but even _you_ can't keep that up. And once that persona falls and he sees who you really are he'll be miserable but bound to you."

Outside the pain of his mind where there was nothing but these words to keep him company, he could hear harsh banging on the door. It seemed far away. Neville rushed on with the rest of his speech.

"He's stubborn, Draco. He won't admit defeat before he's been thoroughly beaten into the ground. Don't give him that beating. Don't let him take it. Let him go. You can't make him happy. You have to let him go."

This, rather than hitting Draco with the final blow, sparked him into rage. He remembered letting Harry go before, and he knew that that misery was more than he could ever live through again. He had promised to be with Harry, to stand by him and to love him—and here was yet another person who thought they could make him go back on his promise.

In the darkness of his mind the blazing image of Harry came to the foré and he knew that nothing anyone could say could make him hurt Harry like Neville was goading him into doing. His pig-headed conviction had already led him into hurting Harry before, and damned if _Neville Longbottom_ was going to convince him to make the same mistake twice.

"Get out," Draco growled, and Neville stopped in whatever was he had been continuing to say. He was too shocked to move, though, and that was when Draco lost it. "Get out!" he screamed, as loudly and as insistently as he could muster, and once he'd started he couldn't stop. He could hear the chair topple as Neville panicked, he could hear the door come clear off its hinges as someone broke it down, but he couldn't stop until he felt arms he instinctively recognized as Harry's grasping tight around his shoulders.

Harry had managed to convince Madame Pomfrey that Draco would better recover in their own quarters, a hypothesis which was granted greater weight by Draco's over-loud litany of "I'm not staying here. You can't make me stay here. I'm not going to stay here." But now that he had the sullen blonde back home, he didn't know what to do with him.

"I'm going take a bath," Draco mumbled.

"I'll come with," Harry volunteered, but was countered.

"No," Draco said sternly, and then completely passed up a chance to properly argue, a pastime Draco never normally tired of.

The blonde trudged off to the bathroom, starting the bathwater and locking the door. Harry's heart sank a little in his chest at that, until Draco seemed to change his mind a few minutes later and unlocked it again.

It was times like these that Harry thought he'd be a horrible husband. At times like these Draco became a mystery and how to help him was an unsolvable puzzle. The best he could do was guess and check, and so after Draco had had nearly an hour to gather his thoughts, Harry headed in, bearing warm, fluffy towels as an appeasement gift in case his guess was incorrect.

Draco glanced his way for a moment, but then seemed to decide that ignoring him would be better. Still, Harry hadn't been screamed out, so he gave this guess a checkmart and ventured another one, creeping close enough to sit on the edge of the tub.

"Draco, are you okay?" Harry questioned, keeping his voice soft. This did not seem to be the modus operandi that Draco wanted. The blonde turned his face away and slunk another couple inches under the water. That guess got a big X through it. Okay, so gentle was not the way to go. Harry followed this clue: Draco did not want to be babied—pampering was fine but babying was taking it too far. Maybe vindication would be the way to go if Draco weren't in a coddling mood.

"Listen, Neville's an idiot. He doesn't know what he's talking about," Harry said, although the words were loath to get out of his mouth. Despite everything Neville was still his friend, and he knew that in the boy's misguided, underhanded way he was trying to be a friend to Harry.

Harry was not rewarded for the pain it cost him to say this. Draco dropped another inch, his mouth under the water now.

Harry's nature-bred-infinitesimal amount of patience ran out now.

"Okay, new game. You tell me how you want me to react to this and I'll do my best. How about that? And—go."

Draco laughed, bubbles cascading to the surface of the water. Finally he sat up a little, and then extended his dripping arms towards the brunette, who was loving his luck. He didn't mind a little wetness for some unexpected lovin, especially when that wetness only affected his pajamas.

He minded slightly more when Draco turned his embrace into a yank and pulled him off his precarious perch and into the hot bath.

"Jerk," Harry muttered, not bothering to fight Draco's tight arms around his submerged shoulders. He settled himself in instead, his blue pajamas wavering around his body in the water. "You're lucky I'm not wearing shoes."

Draco didn't respond, instead opting to wrap his legs around his brunette.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I can take care of you and me at the same time, Potter," Draco observed, although Harry was hard-pressed not to scoff. Harry didn't need the guess and check system to know that scoffing would be a Bad Idea right about now.

"I've just been going about it slightly wrong, and had it pointed out to me by someone who's not bright enough to be lying about it," Draco continued. "I've been spending all my time convincing people that I make you happy, when that's only half the battle. People also have to be convinced that I'm right for you—that I can take care of you and put you first and be supportive and caring. So phase two of Mission Win Over the Public starts now."

"Ohhh, what exactly is this mission going to entail? I can't deal with pampering the way you can. I'm not used to it," Harry complained.

"Then this mission will firstly entail getting you used to it, and secondly making it obvious to everyone with reputable senses that I'm good at it."

"Mmm, fine. But don't go overboard. Malfoys Are Subtle, remember?"

"You already got to that section of the Malfoy Code of Conduct?"

"I had to skip ahead to the important stuff. I couldn't spend 50 pages going over how Malfoys Do Not Consort with Lesser Bloods. It's a bit depressing, seeing as how I'm going to be marring your family line in little over three months."

"Lesson One in Draco's School of Improving Your Self-Esteem: My blood is so lucky to be marred by yours. I know I say it disgustingly often, but I don't always say it with the proper emotions behind it: I love you so much, Harry."

Harry smiled and snuggled into Draco's wet throat.

"I know you do. And I don't think it's disgustingly often. I love hearing you say it."

Draco held him tighter and pet his wet hair, murmuring against his forehead "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"How could anyone think you're anything but perfect to me?" Harry mumbled, ready after all of the day's drama and exertion to drift off to sleep not matter what was acting as his bed.


End file.
